


Shaking

by Mary Reed (Mary_Reed)



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: A character does die, Also before Lizzie knows about Red, Before season 1 finale, Blacklist Spoilers, Gen, Sorry I haven't finished the show yet, be warned, only hints of a relationship, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Reed/pseuds/Mary%20Reed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth Keen is seeking her latest Blacklist target, Alexander Zunamon. He's an arms dealer, a knife enthusiast, and incredibly dangerous. Naturally, Elizabeth is alone and poorly armed. Red is on the way and out for blood. (Set before the season 1 finale/before Elizabeth knows for certain anything about her parentage)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaking

_Shaking_

A Blacklist One-Shot

 

            “FBI! Stand down now Zunamon, it’s over!”

            The authoritative voice of Elizabeth Keen echoed through the abandoned warehouse. The command was strong; no one but Lizzie knew her hands were shaking. She spoke with the authority of an agent with backup; she was no such agent. She knew Ressler would be here in a flash if he weren’t still recovering. He’d whine, sure, but at the end of the day he always had her back. Elizabeth tried not to think too hard about why that was.

            Neither Meera nor Cooper believed her when she had insisted she knew the location of Alexander Zunamon, notorious arms dealer and antique knife enthusiast. His penchant for carving works of art into those who crossed him had elevated him quickly from petty criminal to someone worth watching. Those involved in the criminal element kept a close eye on Zunamon, knowing that the best way to keep from being another carving on his wall was to stay out of his sightline. Agent Keen knew little about the man’s connection to Red, but the look in his eye when she’d told him who she was after gave the rookie pause. She’d decided not to call him for fear of giving him a chance at revenge.

            So here she was, standing alone in a warehouse with a psychopath and wishing strongly that she were less concerned with the welfare of her targets. Her flashlight beam trembled slightly and she kept moving forward.

 

*          *          *          *

 

            Raymond Reddington, known to both friends and foes as Red, sipped a martini in the back of his Mercedes. The car sped down the empty highway, fast approaching a solitary set of lights a mile ahead.

            “Dembe, how long until we reach the warehouse?” asked Red.

            “Two minutes or less sir,” responded Dembe in a deep voice.

            “Wonderful. Let me know when we’ve reached our destination?”

            “Yes sir.” Dembe was a solid man. Calm, even in the face of certain death. It had carried him through dangerous situations for years. But he drew his strength from Red. The man’s resolve, his certainty: these things had sustained Dembe for years. For Raymond Reddington, Dembe would walk through fire without a second thought. Red had pulled him from the flames once, when he was an angry young boy with nothing to lose and a heart of stone. Saving Elizabeth Keen? That was nothing.

            Behind this giant of a man sat Red himself. He was enjoying his drink, savoring the flavor with each delicate sip. He tried desperately not to think about where he was heading. Lizzie was in danger; she had no idea how dangerous Zunamon truly was. He was not a man she could fight alone. He was not a man anyone should fight alone. Red’s stomach had the scars to prove it; this was not a mistake he would make twice.

            Red finished off his drink as they pulled into the parking lot of the warehouse. He pretended the glass wasn’t shaking.

 

*          *          *          *

 

            Behind a crate in an abandoned warehouse, Alexander Zunamon heard the voice of FBI agent Elizabeth Keen and smiled. He flipped a butterfly knife as the footsteps drew closer.

            His hands were completely still.

 

*          *          *          *

 

            Elizabeth moved further into the darkness of the building. Something rustled to her right and she flipped towards it. Just a rat, scurrying away from her beam of light.

            “God, you scared the hell out of me,” she muttered.

            Then everything went dark.

 

            Red heard Elizabeth hit the ground and began running. He signaled to Dembe to stay in the car; perhaps no one should ever face Zunamon alone, but this was personal. And Red always preferred that Dembe not see the things he did when no one else was looking.

            The first thing he saw in the dim light was Zunamon standing over Elizabeth, flipping a butterfly knife around and around with a contemplative look on his face.

            “You got here sooner than I expected Raymond,” said Zunamon. “I thought for sure I would have a few minutes to play before you arrived.”

            “I can be so disappointing,” Red responded. “But that’s life, isn’t it?”

            “Yes, I suppose it is. Like yours. You arrived in time to see your dear Lizzie alive, but not soon enough to save her. Such a pity.” Red seethed on the inside. His vision went red around the edges as Zunamon’s knife drifted closer and closer to Lizzie’s face. A slight twitch in his jaw was the only outward sign that he’d been rattled, but Zunamon moved closer to Elizabeth with caution in his eyes.

            “I would be very careful about your next move here Raymond. Little Lizzie’s in a lot of danger. Such a beautiful face. I would hate to see it…altered.”

            “What is it that you want, Alexander?” asked Red. “My patience is wearing thin.”

            “I would like to walk out of here. Continue my work. There’s no reason we can’t all leave here together.”

            “As wonderful as that sounds, Alexander, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass. You know if I let you go Elizabeth won’t stop looking for you, and we’ll just be back here again in a few weeks.”

            Zunamon lunged for Elizabeth, knife heading directly for her jugular. A shot rang out, filling the empty warehouse with its noise. The thud of a body falling to the floor followed shortly after as Zunamon hit the ground.

            “There is one other reason I decided not to accept your generous offer Alexander,” said Red, walking slowly towards a horrified Zunamon.

            “Red no, please Red,” he begged, clutching the gunshot wound in his abdomen and sliding away from the approaching figure.

            “I don’t like it when people threaten my daughter.” Red pointed his gun at Zunamon’s heart and pulled the trigger. His hands were perfectly still.

 

*          *          *          *

 

            Elizabeth opened her eyes in a hospital room. Bright lights shone down on her face and she reached up to shield herself.

            “How you doing Keen?” asked a familiar voice.

            “Ressler?” she said, squinting eyes searching the room for the source. She spotted him in a wheelchair by the door, sweats on under his standard issue hospital gown.

            “Seems like you took a pretty big hit back in that warehouse. You remember anything?”

            “Umm, I remember walking in, and then nothing after that,” she responded. She tried to remember something after she hit the ground, but she just kept hearing shots. “Did- did someone get shot?” she asked, feeling her body for bullet wounds.

            “Someone did,” said Ressler. “We found Zunamon’s body next to you after someone anonymously called our direct line.”

            “Do you know who killed him?” asked Elizabeth. “I don’t remember firing my gun at all.”

            “No no, it wasn’t you,” said Ressler bitterly. “Officially we have no idea who shot Zunamon, but you and I both know who it was.”

            “If we don’t know then we don’t know,” said Elizabeth. Her heart wasn’t in it and Donald could tell, but he also saw the dazed look in her eyes and the small cut on her chin where Zunamon’s knife got her before “whoever was responsible” took him down. Uncomfortable and certainly unprofessional feelings welled up from deep inside Donald’s chest. He shoved them back down and decided to leave it alone for now.

            “You’re right Keen. I’m going back to my room now before one of the nurses kicks me out. Feel better kid.”

            “Bye Ressler,” she said, nodding at him as he left. She looked down at her hands, hoping that now that she’d left danger behind they would be still. She thought about Zunamon’s dead body, Red’s always-looming presence, and the glass box that had almost taken Ressler’s life. She tucked her trembling hands beneath the warm blanket and closed her eyes.


End file.
